Dora fought for control of her face, then gave in to her own, more moderate, laughter. ‘Oh dear, I reckon she might have helped herself to these, either from the sitting room or by ordering in more than Mr and Mrs Stellion asked for. Why else would she have the very same make with this fancy label?’

‘Aye, Mum, I know nowt of gin but I reckon this isn’t the cheapest. Thing is, though, we don’t know for certain that she pinched them. If we said owt and we were wrong it wouldn’t be fair to Mrs Thwaite.’

‘But if we didn’t, but they do belong to Mr and Mrs Stellion, we’d be helping in the theft, wouldn’t we?’

Gina pretended to ponder the dilemma. ‘Well, we both think she pinched them, so why don’t we just put them aside somewhere safe and out of sight for a couple of days and if Mrs Thwaite wants them she’ll ask for them? If they’re not hers, she won’t have the nerve to ask us to send on stolen goods, will she?’

‘Clever girl, Gina. I don’t really want owt to do with them, but I’ll put them at the back of the cleaning cupboard, just till the end of the week, mind. You’re to remind me about them if Mrs Thwaite doesn’t ask. And if anyone were to find them and think that I’d stolen them, you’re to back me up.’

‘Oh, Mum, of course! Why don’t you go and do that now?’

Dora found an empty paper carrier and stuffed the bottles in, wrapped in a clean pillowcase to cover them and also to stop them clinking as she went.

As soon as she’d gone, Gina went to look through the pockets of the few clothes left in the wardrobe. One was a jacket of suiting material and she saw from its size and the position of the buttons that it was a man’s. At once she knew her search was over. Sure enough, in the secure inside breast pocket was a neat bundle of one-pound notes and a handful of shillings. She grabbed the cash, stuffed it into her dress pocket, then ran quickly out to the corridor where her mackintosh hung ready for rainy dog walks. She had just transferred the money safely to her coat pocket when Dora appeared.

‘Just getting my hanky, Mum,’ said Gina, sniffing. ‘Those mothballs are making my nose run. Did you manage without being seen?’

‘Nowt to it,’ said Dora, looking pleased with herself. ‘Mebbe I’m a born gin smuggler.’

Gina laughed. ‘Oh, Mum, anyone less like a criminal would be hard to find.’

‘Just remind me they’re there on Friday, love,’ Dora fussed. ‘I don’t want anyone to think those bottles have owt to do with me.’